by Sheila Kell
Shrugging, she continued on her search for Cassie. The size of the teach had created a challenge, as she and Cassie got lost at the get-go. Turning a corner, she almost smacked into her friend. Before Cassie could speak, Moira rushed out, “I know you want this to look good for Quinn, but do you really need this job?”
Cassie looked relieved. “No. I thought you might.”
They each chuckled at how they’d, once again, looked out for the other. “Good.” Moira snagged Cassie’s hand, nearly tugging her along. “Let’s head out before Miss Smellsalot returns.
“Smellsalot?” Cassie asked, then wrinkled her nose and chuckled. “She does, doesn’t she?”
“After this, let’s grab something to eat. My stomach’s growling.” As if to emphasize the point, a noise rumbled up from her belly.
Before they could depart, Minister Donnelly neared them. They kept their heads down and swiftly used the dusters they’d been issued and dusted whatever was in reach. To Moira’s relief, the politician didn’t stop as she strode to her office.
Whew. Time to hand over this apron and get on her way to her flat. “Our phones,” she mourned.
“I’m on it. Meet you at Liam’s Tavern.” Before Moira could respond, Cassie slipped away. At least Moira didn’t have to deal with the housekeeper.
Assistant Commissioner Shawn Fitzgerald walked past her into Donnelly’s office. Probably prepping for this evening’s dinner with the minister’s hope to bring people on board with her plan. Her brother told her the gardai was running in circles trying to catch the distributors and needed more support from lawmakers.
With both high-level leaders inside the room, Moira turned to escape. Unfortunately, the only way out—that she knew—led her past the minister’s open office door.
With no wish to be noticed, she tiptoed like a child but stopped in her tracks at the next person to pass her line of sight. Hen’s teeth. Was that really the Boyle fella? The drug king or something like that? It couldn’t be. She shook her head and then realized she’d look like a twit if he’d seen her, she turned her back to him and, once again, pretended to dust. Only, she ran into a wall. Perfect.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted to five in hopes that Boyle passed her and she could get the hell out of there. Of course, it hadn’t worked. He might not have noticed her, but the minister had, and issued an order. “Go to the kitchen and ask for a tray and bring it here.”
The compulsion to turn and act confused saying, “Me?” rode high. However, her professionalism stopped her from the childish act. She almost laughed out loud. Her professionalism wasn’t stopping her from walking out on this gig.
With a new plan, she’d have the chef prepare the order and be gone before it was ready, so someone else would be required to carry it to the office. Aye, that sounded perfect.
Of course, her luck kept getting worse. The chef had anticipated his boss’s request. “It’s ready for you to deliver,” the man in a pristine white shirt stated. How did these people keep their clothing so clean and white?
Oh crap. Moira swiveled her head around, hoping to find someone—anyone—to cart the rather large tray to the minister’s office. After stints with Cassie at temp serving gigs, Moira knew she could tote it, but she had no desire to do so.
The chef passed her a sympathetic gaze. “They’re making beds upstairs. You’ll have to take it yourself.”
“But I just made the beds.” The cook didn’t deserve the indignation she’d inserted into her voice.
“Remaking.”
Moira closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. She’d taken those relaxing breaths one too many times today. Remaking beds. Another task gone arseways. Although, after today’s disaster, and Cassie abandoning her, her friend would have to work to regain her position as BFF. Once she caught up with Cassie….
She should just leave without this last task. Run away and not look back. Not even ask for her pay. But, her professionalism—that kept returning—and a curiosity, that’d typically gotten her in a jam over what type of conversation was occurring in the office, kept her there. Government leaders and a known criminal?
Maybe the leaders had a sting in process for Boyle. Wouldn’t that be cool to witness? That arrest would be worth the hellish day she’d spent cleaning. A slight eagerness crept into her that she knew she should ignore, but she didn’t always listen to reason—even from herself.
Before she turned away, the chef reached across the kitchen island and pulled something from an oddly out of place decorative box. “Here.”
Moira wanted to kiss him. Their phones. Although Cassie would be searching, she wouldn’t allow them to remain until her friend found them. Just in case. After accepting them, she dropped both mobiles in her apron pocket. “Thank you.”
“Before I could give them to your friend, she got caught by—”
“Let me guess,” Moira interrupted. “Miss Smellsalot.” She nearly slapped her hand over her mouth for the slip. These people worked together. Who knew? They could even be married or something.
The chef chuckled and nodded. “That’s a good one. Cassie rushed out of here without the phones.”
“Right.” With a brief nod to the chef as he turned away, Moira left the chef lover’s kitchen, wondering if Cassie planned to return for the phones or abandon them. That’d be the first thing she’d ask her when they met up for their late lunch. She hefted the tray and hoped this trip would be worth something more than a few minutes pay.
Close to her destination, Moira slowed her steps, her heart thudding loudly in her chest, and while excited something big might happen, fear drizzled down her spine. That made no sense to her. It was only delivering a tray of tea and light snacks. Sure, there were powerful people in the room, but that shouldn’t drive her emotions back and forth. Then it hit her. She worried about being caught earwigging. Well, she’d just have to be sneaky about it.
The office door stood open a crack, and she didn’t want to push her way through without permission. Plus, they’d probably quit talking when she entered.
Not willing to juggle a large tray full of afternoon tea on one arm so she could knock with the other, she lowered the tray to the carpet.
Knowing earwigging was terrible, she couldn’t help herself. An opportunity like this didn’t happen often. After a couple of minutes and disappointed she couldn’t make out the words, she raised her hand to knock. Time to just get out of here. She could always tell Cassie, who had been in the room, and see what Quinn had to say about it. He’d probably be more in the know working as a junior minister under Donnelly.
Wait! She nearly snapped her fingers.
Dropping her hand, she reached into her apron for her phone. Maybe it would pick up the conversation and she could listen to it later at a higher volume. If it worked, she’d have some nugget of information for her brother. If she caught the sting, or whatever happened, it would put a smile on Declan’s face. He needed something to lift his spirit. He’d been blue lately, and while he argued to the contrary, she saw it in his eyes, forced smiles, and voice.
She could already hear him accusing, “You were earwigging again. Aye?”
Finding the recording app, she stepped over the tray and moved the phone closer to the sliver of open doorway. While itching to open the door more, she wouldn’t dare and potentially be caught.
At the few words she’d made out clearly, she glanced nervously up and down the hall. She had to move because she didn’t want to be standing here if one of the three—or all—exited the room and saw her. They’d know she’d heard them. She couldn’t even imagine if they knew she recorded their conversation.
Bored and disappointed that she couldn’t understand more, she decided her departure was well overdue. She’d knock and get this done. If the recorder picked up any words, she wouldn’t have wasted her time.
“You
said you knew who the fuck is sleeping with my daughter.” She couldn’t make out the raging voice. It had to be Boyle or Fitzgerald, as she’d heard Donnelly on television often enough, plus the voice had definitely been masculine.
Although it sounded like juicy gossip, a knot inside her belly told her to get the heck out of there. It had been the tone of the voice. Menacing. Angry. Accusing.
Listening to that warning, she dropped her phone back into her pocket and decided to leave the tray where she’d placed it near the door and depart. Screw professionalism. She’d left it in the kitchen when she’d decided to play snoop.
A name she recognized was growled inside the room. With a jump, fear lodged in her throat. It hadn’t been loud, but it’d been clear to her. Or had it? Maybe she’d misunderstood. Really, what were the chances these three would speak of her brother?
“I’ll kill Declan Gallagher and my pregnant whore of a daughter!”
Her limbs froze. Jeanie Mac! She didn’t care she’d jumped back to slang. Murder and her brother’s name spoken in one sentence was too much.
While her thoughts could be thick sometimes, she couldn’t help the fear that shot through the muscles she’d recently relaxed. She didn’t wait around to find out more. Something told her that her instinct had been right on board to leave. If these men found out who she was, would they kill her to keep her silent?
Spinning around with haste, she tripped over the tray, spilling the silver teapot with a clatter that sounded like a bomb exploding in her ears.
Legging it down the hallway, she didn’t look back. Declan had taught her that could lose valuable time if someone followed her. Where was her overprotective brother now when she needed him? A sob nearly lodged in her throat. Could she get to him in time? Please let them be speaking of another Declan Gallagher. While she didn’t wish death on anyone, she loved and needed her brother.
As she passed through the door near the kitchen, she ignored the chef’s call out to her.
Her pulse pounded so loudly in her ears, she wouldn’t have been able to hear if footsteps pounded the pavement behind her. She just had to make it to her car and escape.
If only she hadn’t knocked over the tray, no one would’ve known she’d been outside the door. Then again, maybe they hadn’t heard it like she hadn’t heard them.
Moira raced straight to the door leading to her car, past the gaping taskmaster, and exited, not caring about returning the damn apron she still wore. Let them charge her for it.
Her breath shortening and shaking like a leaf, she fumbled with her car door handle, thankful she’d felt safe enough to not only leave her door unlocked but keep the key fob in her glove box. She fumbled in her purse—spilling most of the contents—then finding what she’d sought, brought her inhaler to her mouth, and gave it two quick puffs. After a moment to resettle, she drove off with haste, ignoring the blasted beeping reminding her to latch her seat belt.
Tapping her fingers nervously on the steering wheel, she kept glancing out her rearview mirror to see if someone followed. After several minutes, she blew out a solid breath. No one followed.
What now? Her heart sank. What would happen to her if they found out she’d overheard? She could be called into court as a witness, or—she gulped past the hard lump lodged in her throat—she could be taken out as a witness.
Not knowing her next step—whether reporting it to the gardai or hiding out—she drove on autopilot to her brother’s home. Using a voice command through her car’s Bluetooth, she phoned him. When he answered, her wavering voice announced, “Someone wants to murder you.” Just saying that sent tears welling in her eyes and the aftershock rocked her system. The weight of what she’d heard terrified her.
Fighting back against the wash of emotion threatening to send her into a near breakdown, she swallowed back and wiped her eyes. It only helped a bit, but that bit would get her where she needed to go.
“What?” Declan’s alert voice settled her a bit more. He’d fix it. He’d always done so when she needed him.
“He wants to kill you. And, I think Diana, too.” She could be taking it all out of context, but she wouldn’t take the chance. Not until her brother helped her decipher everything and make a plan.
When her brother didn’t speak right away, her heart lurched and tears streamed down her face unchecked. What if he wouldn’t help her since his big boss had been involved?
“How do you know?” he asked again.
“I overheard it”—her words broke, admitting the truth— “at the minister’s house.” She sniffled loudly. “Boyle was there.”
“Feck. Get over here ASAP.”
Her heart sank, turning her stomach sour. Shushing her mind to the futility of the questions as to what he’d do to help her, she drove, feeling safer.
Chapter Five
On the drive to Declan’s home, the events of the afternoon had shifted and grown in Moira’s mind until paranoia had rooted its ugly self in her senses. She’d lost all track of the fact she’d only overheard something—probably out of context.
By the time she’d parked, that paranoia—which had her constantly checking the rearview mirror for a tail—had morphed into anger and outrage at the audacity of the threat. Nay, fear remained for her brother, but the thought of Boyle made her blood boil. Boyle and boil. Ha. If only she could actually laugh at it.
Her brother opened her car door before she could, and she launched herself out of the vehicle and at his chest. She allowed him to take control of everything. To her horror, a sob escaped when she secured herself in his arms. How could she be crying when she was so angry?
In a low, loving voice, he murmured, “Shh, my deirfiúr. I’ve got you.”
Declan calling her “sister” in Gaelic brought back all the times he’d been her protector growing up. Whether it had been a skinned knee or, apparently, a death threat against him, his arms always held the key to holding her together. This situation wasn’t fair.
Time passed slowly before she collected herself enough to function. Stifling the flow of tears, she searched his eyes through her watery ones and whispered on a broken note, “I don’t want you to die.”
Always prepared, he handed her a tissue, before leading her into his home. The place where the two of them had grown up in a loving family. The home that now held two additional people in it.
Moira had met Diana Boyle more than a year ago when Justin Franks—her and Declan’s American friend since childhood—had introduced them. Justin had stated he worked for her dad, but the two had been tight-lipped about who that man was or what exactly Justin did for him. Although rich and secretive, Moira hadn’t wanted to believe the amazingly nice woman was the daughter of a known drug lord.
She’d also not wanted to believe Justin worked for a criminal. From as early as she could remember, Justin and his family visited hers for nearly a month every summer. Their parents had a close relationship. But, for some reason or other, her family never visited the Frankses in the US. More than once, she’d asked to visit, but her parents always said it wasn’t possible. In her young mind, she’d equated that to mean they didn’t have enough money. They’d never been poor, but they’d never been described as well off.
During those younger days, Justin and her brother had been close. Danny, Justin’s younger brother by four years, hung out with them, but as a girl three years younger than Danny, she’d been banned from their antics. Not that she’d wanted to do some of the stuff the boys did at those ages.
Always kind, and probably feeling sorry for her, Danny made it a point to spend time with her during each visit. They’d walk, play, and she’d give him tours of areas that she’d later learned he’d visited many times. Danny never excluded her or made her feel like she hadn’t belonged. Justin hadn’t really either, but when the two oldest boys were together, she was treated as if she had the plague. As a child, it’d brok
en her heart when her brother had ignored her, but after the Frankses left, Declan became the attentive and loving brother he’d been before their visits.
She hadn’t seen or spoken with Danny since the family’s last visit when she was sixteen. From her brother, she’d later learned that their father had died on a DEA op. That’s when she’d found out that the sons had followed in their father’s footsteps and were both DEA. Scratch that, had been DEA. They’d left after their father’s death. Although she didn’t know the particulars, she’d understood the brothers hadn’t parted on the best of terms.
Justin, however, appeared two years ago, claiming to have moved to Ireland for work. From the beginning, Justin had described his boss as nothing more than an Irish businessman who dabbled in many things. When he’d just shrugged off telling her the name, she hadn’t pursued it. Truly, it hadn’t been her business. Though, she’d noticed tension between him and her brother that she couldn’t define.
When Justin introduced Diana, he’d informed Moira that escorting her was sometimes a perk of his job. Justin had winked at Diana when he’d said that, but Moira had only noticed the playfulness in it. Nothing felt sexual between the two. Like when you can’t stand to be near two people because the electricity is zipping back and forth.
Like when Diana and her brother were near each other.
That’s when she’d learned who Justin worked for and why the underlying tension existed between the two men. If it hadn’t been for Declan’s draw to Diana, she’d worried he might arrest Justin on the spot. However, the two men must’ve come to some agreement because the four of them spent time together.
When she’d told her brother about her discomfort befriending Diana because of her father, Declan convinced her to not hold that against the woman. Given that her brother was a guard and hated criminals, that’d surprised the hell out of her. But he’d been right. She enjoyed the times she spent with Diana.
In the house, Justin turned to her and nodded as he walked away, speaking quietly on his mobile phone. His unusual tight-lipped smile shot her ball of fear to a new level. If he—someone who worked for the criminal who’d spoken in that office—was concerned, then she hadn’t heard wrong.
